


Damned, Undying

by TheMooseOfAcheron



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Darth Vader Lives, Family Feels, Gen, He also isn’t magically a good person because he realized he fucked up, Introspection, Luke gets to talk to his dad, Organ Transplantation, Vader doesn’t die on the Death Star AU, mentions of Leia Organa and Han Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMooseOfAcheron/pseuds/TheMooseOfAcheron
Summary: After dying on the Death Star, Darth Vader wakes up in a hospital bed in rebel custody. Luke asks about his mother. Vader tries to figure what has changed about his body. The both of them get a new chance at family.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 119





	Damned, Undying

Now is not your time 

Darth Vadar woke in an unfamiliar hospital bed, breathing surprisingly easy. More surprisingly, Vader was unrestrained. The boy was seated beside him, asleep, likely a guard lax in his duty. But there was no handcuff or force collar. And the the colors. The hospital room was private. No windows, no droids. And plain. Just Vader, the boy, and the softly beeping machines that kept him breathing. But the walls were white, starchy. Bright. They hurt to look at. There were blues in the blanket draped across his lap. Blues, not purples. And the boy. His hair was honey-blond and familiar, his skin creamy, his face shadowed. 

Vader’s visor was missing. His visor was missing and he could see. 

Vader took a pull of air. It hissed into his lungs. He pushed it out again, and the noise was soft. A gentle puff out his nose. He tried through his mouth. It was just the same. 

Curious. 

He took a moment to collect himself. What did he remember? The Death Star. The Emporer, his old friend, his master. The boy, pleading. And the deep, soul-weary exhaustion that had plagued him for days, months, years, finally too much as the boy struck him down. A new vigor claiming him as he watched his - the boy fall to his knees. The Emporer dead, at Vader’s hand, and the boy carrying him through the Death Star, to his tiny escape pod, where Vader had sat and prepared to die. 

Yet death had not claimed him. 

Not yet, I’m afraid. 

The voice, Vader knew well. He scanned the room, and sure enough, there in the corner, a solemn figure, smiling. He looked young again, hair reddish, beard full, but the crinkles around his eyes remained, and he twirled the hairs of his mustache, that horrid thing, around his fingers as though sharing a joke with an old friend. 

“Kenobi,” Vader growled. His voice was hoarse, scratchy. It hurt to speak, but it was his voice. It was his voice.

It had been so long. 

The spectre winked and faded, and Vader growled again. He reached out with his hands, but they were slugish to respond. Then he reached out with the force, hot and wild, and found nothing to attack. No energy with which to attack. No will to do so. 

The boy grumbled, and shifted. Vader stilled. As the boy woke, Vader pulled back. He straightened as best he could, and fixed the boy with his gaze. Blue eyes blinked open, and recognition crossed his face. 

“Father,” he said. “You’re awake.” 

“Yes,” Vader said. Something twinged in his chest. Sadness, but not aching and raw, or hollow like the pain to which he was accustomed. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no,” the boy lied. “I wasn’t really asleep. I didn’t want to leave you - I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up.” 

“I see. What has been done to me?” 

“You were seen by a meddroid, then a surgeon. Your respirator was really old, and the filters were practically useless anyway. You should be breathing better now." 

"And of the Empire?"

A smile stretched the boy’s face. “The empire is collapsing as we speak. The senate’s regained some control of the mid-rim, and the alliance has established a presence on Coruscant. Imps are going to ground.” His smile faltered, and he looked away. “Thank you, Father. You saved us.” 

Vader laughed once, hoarse, wheezing.”I damned you. Do not forget who I am, boy. I am Darth Vader. I killed the Jedi and the Republic, and I would have killed you too. Thank you, for what you have done for me.”

“I knew there was good in you,” the boy said simply. “I could feel it. I had to save you.” 

“And for that, the galaxy owes you its gratitude. Why have you brought me here?” 

“I couldn’t let you die. I only just found you. I want to know you, Father. Who you are, who you were. I always just wanted to know you.” The look on the Boy’s face was soft and unguarded, nothing like the stoic Jedi who had faced him on the Death Star, or the child who had struck at Darth Vader with such violence. He was young, so so young, and joyous now, no longer conflicted or burdened with burgeoning darkes.

“You know everything you need to know of me. I am Vader, last Lord of the Sith, enforcer to lord Sidious and terror to the galaxy. I am the greatest force-user alive, and I am your father.” He paused. The look on the boy’s face was open, still, but something had changed. There was a furrow at his brow, a twist to his mouth that seemed familiar. Vader knew that expression because he had seen it in the mirror. 

“What’s your favorite food?” 

“I haven’t eaten solid food a quarter of a century.” 

“What was it, then? Do you remember?” 

Vader thought of food often. After the initial grief, the loss of his wife and child, passed, new griefs came home. The loss of his body was among the first. His limbs, replaced easily with durasteel and wires, was more traumatic this time. The prosthesis were bad, creaky and stuttering, especially at first. But ultimately, his limbs were no major loss. His stomach. His intestines. His bladder. They were irreparable, irreparable losses. He could not eat, he could not taste. He could not breathe. 

He-whoosh. He-whoosh. 

His lungs. Those were his greatest loss. 

A smile crawled over his face. “On Naboo, there was a fruit called the wolf peach. It was red, and tart. I believe I liked it fresh, sliced, with salt and a touch of a cream sauce popular for hors’deurves” 

The boy shifted his legs beneath him, wincing as he moved. He leaned forward and clapped his hands against his knees. “Did you spend a lot of time on Naboo? Did you like it? I’ve never been there, it’s deep in Imperial space. Now that the war’s over, though, I might like to visit.” 

Vader chuckled again. “Yes, a lot of time. Every available second, on Naboo, attending parties, swimming, eating fine food and drinking fine wine. S-skywalker was to retire there, after the war, with his wife and child.” 

The boy made a face. “My mother?” 

“Yes, your mother.” 

“What was her name?” 

Vader exhaled slowly, and the air hissed out softly. He took another, deep, conscious breath, and focused the force inwards as he had not in many years. His chest felt different. Stronger. His diaphragm pulled with more verve than he remembered. Perhaps that was it, then. His diaphragm was stronger now, having been seen by a real doctor. Perhaps. 

“Padmé,” he said. “You know nothing of her?” 

“No,” the boy said. “I grew up with Owen and Beru Lars. They didn’t know anything about her, only you. They told me that you died in the war.” 

“From a certain point of view, that is true. Your father died during the war and I replaced him.” 

This time, it was the boy who laughed. Vader raised a brow. “Nothing, just. Ben told me the same thing.” 

“Of course,” Vader grumbled. It was odd, to be able to grumble. “Would you like to know of your mother?” 

The boy gave an enthusiastic nod. He couldn’t be older than 25. He knew nothing about himself, where he came from, who he was. He was Luke Skywalker. Son of a Jedi, son of a senator. He should be a prince. Vader clenched a fist. The force tightened around him, but nobody choked. This new anger was softer than he was used to, burnt out like the embers on a funeral pyre. Nobody choked, but Luke flinched, and furrowed his brow, his eyes darting to the fist at his father’s side. 

“I would love to know about her. What was she like?” 

Vader swallowed, and for a moment allowed himself to be Anakin Skywalker. 

It hurt. 

“Padmé was...sublime. I met her as a child, She was as beautiful as an angel. We met again when I was a young man, still Padawan myself. I was assigned her bodyguard, and she accompanied me to Tattooine, to check on my mother. When we arrived, she had been kindpppped by sand people, and Padmé held me as I despaired. I had butchered the village, you see, when I found her. I was quite distressed, and another would have called me a monster, but she held me anyway. After that, on Geonosis, we were to be killed for sport together. My Master chastised me for my recklessness, but Padmé was already beginning her escape. I believe I truly fell in love with her then.” 

Vader closed his eyes. He saw her face. After what happened in the arena, they fucked in the back of the cruiser on the way to Coruscant. Anakin had cried, and Padmé had laughed, and after they spoke about the ensuing war. It was then that Padmé asked him to marry her, skin flush with Adrenalin from the battle and from the sex. 

“She asked me to marry her, I think, because I was dangerous. Exciting. And I treated her like a person. Queens and slaves, they have that in common; nobody treats them like a person except other queens and other slaves. And droids. I always liked droids. 

“During the war, she was my greatest supporter and greatest challenge. She was headstrong, dedicated, noble. Her hair smelled like lilac and fig jam. She truly wanted reconciliation between the republic and the separatists. I just wanted the war to end.” 

“I understand the feeling,” Luke said. “I always wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to join the imperial academy, when I was younger, so I could get off Tattooine and see the galaxy. At first, it was a lot of fun. Saw new places, met all kinds of people. I learned things that would have been impossible on Tattooine. I joined the rebellion, to fight for freedom. I even rescued a princess! After a while, though, I got tired of watching my friends die.” 

Vader hummed. “Yes. War is exhausting. Do not presume that it has ended, simply because the Emporer is dead. Power will rise to fill this new vacuum, and scum does float to the top of the tanker. I suspect now it may be easier for your rebellion to find footing, but the Admirals and Moffs will not release their hold on the government so easily. The remaining inquisitors will likely present an issue as well, and in my absence they will grow rabid.” 

“We figured, yeah. Leia wanted me to talk to you about that, actually. She was… not enthusiastic about helping you. She only let me bring you here because she thought that you might be useful. I’m sorry.”

“The Alderaanian princess.” 

“Yeah. Well, not any more. She’s a general now, and I think, maybe fourth in command of the rebellion? Maybe fifth? I’m not entirely sure anymore. But she wanted me to bring you her offer.” 

Vader swallowed. It did not burn, nor taste of ash. “An astute negotiator, you’ve become. To build a rapport before you begin business talks. Ob- your mother would be proud. What have you for me?”

Luke shook his head. “No, no it’s not like that. I wouldn’t have let you die if it was my choice, but it wasn’t. The doctors wouldn’t treat you without her permission, and Leia was furious. So we talked, and eventually she gave us the go tongue , and Vader consisted ahead, and here you are. Think of the first operations as a show of good faith. That, I think she said, 'you can see that cooperating would be in your best interest.'"

"I will not plea bargain with the rebellion, boy. I will not sit a trial nor serve a sentence. The crimes I have committed have no righteous punnishment, and I would not stand one regard lead ." Vader smirked. "I am still Darth Vader. I do not need use of my limbs to kill everyone aboard this vessel." 

Luke looked away. The door was unguarded from the inside, but undoubtedly there was a security detail waiting beyond. Some soldiers with blasters, probably. Maybe even Solo, or Organa herself, prepared to save Vader’s son if necessary, to die trying, if necessary. 

“”I would not like to kill everyone aboard this vessel,” Vader amended. He-woosh. Feeling was returning slowly to his hands. Hands? One of them, maybe both, the memories were fuzzy now, had been removed. Alas, he could clench the cybernetics in his right arm, and his shoulders had loosened just a tad. He pushed himself up on his his elbow and tugged gently at the force, outlining Luke’s face back around. “I am glad you saved me, son. I would not like to forsake such a gift so soon. But I will rejoin the force before I beg for mercy.” The words rolled on his tongue, and Vader considered keeping to himself how he truly felt. But the red had faded from the corners of his vision. Many months had passed since he last saw himself reflected, but he hazarded to guess that his eyes had gone blue. The emperor was dead; there was nothing left for him to fear. “I will not be imprisoned again. I am free now, you must understand.” 

“I understand, Father,” Luke said after a moment. “We... we don’t want you in prison. I don’t want you in prison. But, like you said, the generals, the moffs, they won’t just give up power. They’re afraid of you, though. They might do what you say. Leia’s come up with a sort of payment plan. Help us bring down the Empire, flush out the last of the imps, you could be, well, not pardoned, but left alone.” 

“A deal should benefit both parties. I see only what I could give myself. You forget, I created this empire. Why would I see it burn, except to spite my dead master?” 

Here, Luke perked up. He fished around in his robes before pulling out a glowing vial, inside which floated a thin, blue precipitate of nanites and bacta. “In exchange, you will be provided with a steady supply of this.” He set the vial in the palm of Vader’s open hand, and Vader closed a loose fist around it. He lifted it slowly towards his face, where he could see it better. Yes, nanites and bacta, but also something else. Yellow, fluffy, nearly transparent. Upon closer inspection, they glimmered faintly, not in the light but in the force. A sign of life.

Stem cells. 

“This is ReGen.” Vader said. A newer Kaminoan innovation. Promising, at first, as a therapeutic, but ultimately, Vader had seen no results. “Though I admire your tenacity, this will be a futile endeavor. The original immolation altered me such that my DNA was damaged. Stem cell therapies will have no affect on me, as there is no healthy template to extrapolate.” 

Luke bit down on his lip and looked off to the corner. Vader recognized that expression as his own, as well. Guilt. Excitement. The force swirled with impatience. Vader’s eyes narrowed. 

“What have you done?” 

Luke bit down harder, clenched his fists into his pants, surgical scrubs, Vader now recognized. Finally, finally, Vader noticed Luke’s shallow breathing, the odd favor to his left side, the bandages peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. Realization began to dawn. 

He-woosh.

“We didn’t think it would work at first, but you do have healthy stem cells now. Something to do with midi-whatsits or something. You’ve already had three doses, since the transplant. This vial would be your last for free. After, you should be able to breathe fine on your own, unless you sustain any new injuries. And maybe avoid dust that could get in your lungs, but that’s just good advice generally speaking.” 

Luke kept talking, but Vader was breathing, and feeling, and listening. There was no respirator, only cannulae, and a heart monitor, and the nervous little boy sitting before him, likely out of surgery only a few days ago, smelling of sweat and bacta and burns. He closed his eyes and opened himself to the force - fully, in a way he hadn’t since before the war - and let it fill him. He followed it to his rib cage, to his chest, where a young, healthy lung filtered air in and out, beside the shriveled old thing that had struggled to keep him alive for twenty-some years. 

Anakin opened his eyes, tearing. 

“You should have left me to die. I don’t…” He paused. His voice cracked. It could crack. He could hear his voice, and he - 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

Luke paused, awkward. “I, uh. I don’t know what to say to that. But I wanted to help you! Father, I wanted to know you. That’s why we did it while you were asleep. You wanted to die on the Death Star, I didn’t think you would let me. I know that you can be good. I wanted to prove that I trust you. So, I trust you. Just take care of my lung, okay?"

Anakin sat there quietly, looked down at his cybernetics - and they had to be new. One of them had been cut off, and anyway neither had rust at the joints or discoloration along the pistons. His fingers moved smoothly and without the ache he had had grown accustomed to. He'd been given a lung, he'd been given his hands. What of the legs, were they new too? The rebellion had pulled him from the Death Star, given him a much-needed polish, and set him out like a display piece, a vintage speeder, a tamed beast. It couldn't be kindness - kindness wouldn't hurt so much.

"Help me with this vial," Anakin said after a moment. His cheeks were wet but his voice did not tremble, and his beautiful son did not comment except to agree excitedly. He twisted the cap and perforated the seal beneath. Anakin could have done it himself, but he was afraid he would spill it across the thin medbay sheets. Luke sat beside him, helped him sit erect, and held the vial to his lips as he drank. 

The effects were not immediate. No healing was immediate. But it was a start. 

The force shivered, and in the corner beside the door, Obi-Wan Kenobi shimmered, wry smile lingering on his face. 

Its good to see you again, my old friend, he said. Don’t waste the gifts the force has given you. 

"Not the force," Anakin said. Luke looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze to the corner where Obi-Wan stood. He startled, and his fist in Anakin's robe tightened. It was clear he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue. "My son."

Obi-Wan chucked, and turned, and his force presence faded again. Take care of him, he said, and then he was gone. It was unclear who he was asking to care for whom.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha ha wow this is the first fan fiction I’ve posted anywhere in over ten years. Hot damn. Jsyk, ReGen is a thing I made up for plot reasons, I have little regard for cannon. I haven’t read much of legends since I was a kind so don’t expect too much of that from me. Planning on continuing this - would we prefer chapters or a series with separate works? It’ll be a few weeks before that comes out, so I have time to decide.


End file.
